Assassin
by KitCat Italica
Summary: Selina has discovered who her Batman really is, and plans to show him her heart is not a ball of string to play with until it unravels. Little does she know she will soon discover who his heart has always belonged to. Established B/J slash


Assassin

In walked the devil woman. To the party guests around her, however, she hardly stood out. Everyone was dressed in their finest to celebrate Bruce Wayne's 36th birthday. Except for her. _Her_ finest entailed a black leather body suit and cat-eared mask, complete with razor claws and dominatrix whip. But such sexy attire would have been hardly suitable for such an occasion, so she had had to settle on a skintight black silk dress, skirt flaring to a length ending just below the knees. Completed by four-inch black stilettos and her most prized diamond necklace that settled in nicely to the dress's considerably low neckline, she strutted with coy supremacy through the doorway into Wayne Manor.

Surveying the throng of party guests in the room before her, she turned to eye the man at the door from beneath her long mascara-toned lashes as she handed him her stolen invite. Seeing as she had no purse with her, there was no need to search her; the man nodded her in, commenting, "You look dressed to kill as always, Miss Callahan." She smirked inwardly at the fake identity she had been addressed with. A smirk that manifested itself on her face as a slight twitch of a smile played on her poison-red lips. She chuckled once at his remark. _Dressed to kill, indeed._

For, little did he know, she was.

Normally, had she been there for any other purpose, she would have chosen a dress with a considerably shorter skirt, catching the wandering eyes of every man and lesbian in the vicinity. But the business of tonight had called for a more modest hem, but not for keeping her legs crossed tonight.

Rather for concealing the handgun attached to her thigh, held in place by the black strap encircling her upper leg.

Hanging at the back of the room so as not to draw unwanted attention to herself, she perused the crowd with her green, yellow-tinged eyes. Acute ears picking up every slightest sound, eyes memorizing every face. Searching for her prey.

All at once, every face in the crowd looked up towards the top of the grand staircase and burst into applause. She noticed the sudden shift in attention, and noted the loud noise, yet her body stood suspended in time, refusing to follow suit. A cold, quiet rage began licking at her gut, filling her chest and spreading through her limbs with an electric current of fury. Then slowly, ever so slowly, she lifted her eyes to the figure at the head of the staircase who had captured the attention of his audience.

Everyone else saw the beaming, handsome face of Bruce Wayne, their wealthy host for the evening who had arrived fashionably late to greet his fawning guests. But as she watched his progress down the stairway, welcoming the crowd with his widest grin and the brightest and bluest of eyes, she alone noticed a flicker of a shadow fluttering in the shining orbs. The silent beating of leather wings, invisible to all but her.

For she knew who he really was.

The thought brought up memories almost too painful for her to bear. Memories of robbing the finest of Gotham's jewelry stores, swiping the coveted gems, only to be thwarted by the man in black armor and ears. Entering combat with him, time and time again, caught between hating his constant interruptions of her work and admiring his daring and skillful tactics, the way his body moved as he weaved through punches and blows with a kind of fluid grace, imagining what he must be like underneath the armor, moving on top of her with that same breathtaking finesse…

…and one night, she had found out. Their masks still on, they had melted into one in the night, giving her the most intense orgasms she had ever experienced as stars danced before her eyes. She had woken up the next morning thinking the entire affair to be a fluke, but it had happened again. And again, and again, making love in the stolen hours before dawn, night after wondrous night. And she had given all of herself to him. Everything she had in her soul was sent as an offering to his warmth, and he took it all with fervent passion as their lips met over and over, each time closer to the greatest bliss she had ever known. And for a time, he had been hers. All hers.

Until that night. That darkest of nights that haunted her ever afterwards. She had been searching for him, ready to give him another wild ride of rabid sex, when she had found him at the threshold of an old abandoned motel room in the Narrows. It took her a while to realize that he was gazing into the room _at_ someone. Unable to move, she could only stare in shock as he reached up to his head and pulled off his mask. And entered the room, closing and locking the door behind him.

She listened outside the door for the next hour, listening to his lust-stricken moans with another person. Receiving pleasure from. _Someone. Else. _Even when she lay alone in her own bed later that night, his cries of joy could not be erased from her ears.

But the worst was the sight. The sight that was burned into her memory until the day she ended her nine lives. The sight of Bruce Wayne, standing in the body suit of her beloved Bat, smiling affectionately into the motel room. Smiling with total devotion at the person _in_ the room. Smiling with eyes all aglow.

Smiling, with **love**.

He had given her an exciting few nights, fucked her up the pussy to keep her quieted down, while all the while pretending to give her a heart that was never hers to keep.

For it had belonged to someone else the whole time. To _another_ woman.

If she ever found out who that other woman was, she would do far worse than just kill her. She would watch her starve and shrivel up before her eyes, naked and alone as she was whipped mercilessly, hair yanked out by vengeful claws. But for now, the man in this snarled triangle would have to do. And there was only one end for him that would leave her completely satisfied. Trying to lock him up to torture him would be useless; he was too smart and could easily wriggle his way out of any trap she set for him. Besides, it would be too easy for her to forget the pain he'd caused her as he gazed into her green eyes with his own sparkling pair of blue. She was not about to take that chance of betraying her mind with her heart by actually _forgiving_ him.

No, there was only one option left.

He would have to die. By her hands.

Now, as she glared up at him through the strands of black hair that had fallen in front of her face, she marked out every detail of his person in her mind, savoring every feature of his face and body. A memento of her crime. She was not going to soon forget this theft. The theft of life.

For she did not forgive, and she did not forget.

He had made it to the foot of the stairs, and had reached to grab a champagne glass from a tray his butler had offered. Words formed on his lips, but she did not hear them; sound had been blotted out of her awareness, save for the steady beating of his heart. A sound she would soon silence.

He raised his glass in a toast, and the crowd raised their glasses with him before sipping deeply. They then crowded around him, wanting to die in the knowledge that they had shaken his hand, held a three-word conversation with him, even met the eye contact of the more approachable of Gotham's two princes (the lot of them would die happy in the knowledge of having never met the other Prince). He gave them each their fair share, that of a few second's attention.

She started towards him.

Suddenly, his somewhat forced grin broadened with genuine happiness and relief, and he reached for another champagne glass to hand to the person whom had just recognized. She couldn't quite make out who it was, only caught a glimpse of a few blonde strands of hair. For a second her heart leapt into her throat, until she relaxed in realizing it was a man. It _couldn't_ be the woman who had taken her place. Brushing the thought aside, she resumed her total focus on the billionaire vigilante who had broken her heart, and was about to be cut to ribbons by the jagged pieces.

She slowly, methodically picked her way through the crowd, weaving as she did through nighttime battles. For this was just another hunt, another chase, another trapped rodent about to be squashed by the feline predator…

Yet he never even noticed, for his attention was fully engaged in the conversation with the man he had just offered a drink. He seemed to have left the room, the party, the entire world behind, so intimate was his mental interaction with the blonde. He suddenly laughed at something his companion had just said, and leaned over to whisper something in his ear. She couldn't make out what his lips were mouthing – until they suddenly formed a phrase she at first couldn't believe she had just seen uttered. A phrase that was unmistakable, and should have only been reserved for _her_.

_I love you._

Blood roared in her ears.

So here he was. The person – the _man_, no less – who had stolen her Batman away from her. Who left her with nothing but broken memories, while _he_ – _HE_ – got to walk away with _love_.

With Batman's love. With Bruce's love.

**His** love.

She quickened her pace towards the pair. Never breaking stride, she lifted a hand to raise her skirt on her right side, exposing her bare thigh and giving her access to the firearm attached. She mechanically undid the strap and laid the weapon into her palm, cold as death. She had almost closed the distance between her and her prey, just a few more people to block the path, who she casually brushed aside, as they moved on their way, not even noticing the woman or the slowly ascending handgun…

Bruce laughed again at another remark from his companion, and looked up momentarily at the crowd, only to notice the woman standing not two feet away from him, a handgun pointed squarely at his chest. Startled, he studied the face of his assailant closer, and she grinned slightly as she watched his face widen with recognition. He knew exactly who she was, and why she had come.

And at that moment, upon seeing his fellow's sudden distress, the man who _was_ the reason for her coming turned around to face her head on. She was met with the face of what appeared to be a very handsome, tall blonde man in his early thirties.

It was only when she was confronted with the murder in his green eyes that she also took note of the solitary wispy streak of green that had not completely washed out of his hair. And the few slight flecks of midnight paint that remained stubbornly imbedded in the faint creases around his eyes. And the carefully applied latex blended onto his cheeks with tanned makeup to hide the scars that marred his suddenly familiar face.

As she met the bright emerald eyes infused with darkened shrouds of maddened hate, she found her mind couldn't connect with her fingers to pull the trigger, the trigger that was now aimed at the shoulder of the other man as he stepped slightly to his right, shielding Bruce with his own body. Out of her peripheral vision – for her eyes were locked in hypnotic shock on those of the madman – she saw his left hand move to the inside of his suit jacket. She began to realize the implications of the motion. No matter how fast she was with her handgun, she knew him to be even faster with the countless knives he no doubt had stored on his person at the moment. His eyes held hers with a searing, constricting glare, betraying the vengeance _he_ would exact were events to unfold the way she intended tonight.

As she held his gaze with unflinching fury, she slowly lowered her weapon to rest at her side. The wrath in his eyes didn't go out for an instant. His left arm inside his jacket tensed and prepared to cut the feline fucker to shreds –

– when a hand shot out from behind him to grab his right wrist, restraining his temper. Bruce kept his grip firm, in a warning of the hell _he_ would raise for the other man if he continued with his action. Tension hung in the static-charged air as Cat stared down Clown, who stared right back as Bat kept a hold on him. All three stormed hurricanes in their eyes, to be unleashed if the other two started anything. For the longest moment in time, they waited.

She made the first move. Her decision wisely made, she broke the eye contact and slunk off into the crowd towards the door, as she stuffed her handgun down her neckline to hide it from the other guests. The two men watched her leave, one with intensifying rage that blazed the heated sparks of possessiveness that smoldered in his green eyes. Sensing this, the other softened his grip on his lover's wrist, stroking his thumb along the exposed skin in a soothing caress.

An act he thought was unnoticed, until the arm he held slid slightly underneath his grip as Joker's hand grasped his firmly. He returned the loving squeeze as they both watched the would-be assassin sneak off into the night.

* * *

**I suppose this and everything else I've posted so far is kind of an experiment for my long story that I'm going to start writing this summer. Kind of a chance for me try out the different characters. Well, so far there's been Bruce, Joker, and Alfred. Now Selina. Not so sure how I handled that last one, I write fanfiction based on what I know, and the extent of my knowledge of Batman canon only goes as far as Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, Batman/Returns/Forever/Robin movies of the '90s, The Man Who Laughs, Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth, the Batman animated series that once ran on KidsWB, and Wikipedia and other related random websites (I have no life so I research my obsessions online, don't be judging ^^). So...tell me what you think. I'd greatly appreciate feedback on this one. Never actually seen Catwoman in action besides in Batman Returns and on the animated show, which is a situation I'd like to fix. For the more I read and learn about the Batman universe, the more I love these characters and plots and relationships and how intricate and complex and timeless they all are. And I could go on and on for pages and pages about their fundamental parallels to humanity, but I'm here to entertain, not bore to death. Guess I'll leave you be for now.**

**And this story was inspired by yet another song by 10 Years, called "Picture Perfect (In Your Eyes)". The first half of it is ok, but the last three minutes or so...totally badass. I can just imagine Selina prowling forward with a gun at her side as she chants that mantra under her breath. Makes me get all goosebump-y. ^.^**


End file.
